


Bethany, Into the Lion's Den

by wargoddess



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: F/M, Fingerfucking, Friends With Benefits, Magic Fingers, Mutual Masturbation, Nipple Play, The Electricity Trick, Unrequited Love, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-14
Updated: 2013-11-14
Packaged: 2018-01-01 10:39:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1043825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wargoddess/pseuds/wargoddess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Hawke leaves her behind during the Deep Roads mission, Bethany makes the decision to give herself up to the Templars. But first she goes to Anders to learn... survival skills.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bethany, Into the Lion's Den

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by [this lovely image of Bethany](http://womenofthedas.tumblr.com/post/62720260172) by [blue wicked behemoth](http://bhdrawsstuffthings.tumblr.com/). Also, the warning is for frank discussion of possible rape, torture, and coercion. She's going to the Gallows, after all.

     "I need to ask you a question," Bethany said.  "It's about the Circle."

     "Should be abolished," said Anders, absently; his attention was fixed on a vial, into which he'd begun carefully pouring a finished potion from its mixing crucible.  "Next question?"

     She waited until he was done, thank the Maker, or he'd have had to mix the potion all over again and it was a devilishly difficult -- and expensive -- blend to get right.  But when he'd corked and racked the last vial and used a small hand-broom to sweep the volatile dust safely into a storage jar, she finally said, "I'm thinking about turning myself in."

     "To whom and for what?"  And then he understood, because Justice had understood at once of course, and he was only slow because he'd never, ever, expected to hear these words from Hawke's sister.  "To the _Gallows_?  Are you _mad_?"

     Bethany drew herself up, and for the first time he saw the resemblance between her and her warrior sibling.  Normally they looked nothing alike -- the elder sister tall and rawboned, all angles and starkness; the younger sister lithe and curved and soft.  Their anger, though, that was exactly the same.

     "I know what I'm doing," she snapped.  "I've thought about this for _years_.  And if I'm not interested in hearing my family's objections to this, believe me, I don't need _you_ treating me like I don't know my own mind."

     "Bethany, I just want you to understand -- "  he began, and bit back on his own words as she shook her head in frustration and turned to leave, and Justice murmured _Let her go; she has made her choice._

     He couldn't do that.  She was a friend, if not a close one, and a fellow mage who was obviously in need -- of a head examination, if nothing else.  And if he didn't at least try to dissuade her from this course, Marian would kill him.  Still, it was clear that a lecture would not do.

     "Wait," Anders called before she reached the clinic's closed doors, and she stopped, her back stiff.  She'd come to assist him with the afternoon's patients as she often did, and it was not unusual for her to stay after hours, either.  Still, he should have noticed the way she'd dithered over it in the past few days, obviously working her way up to something.  Sighing, he rubbed a hand over his hair.  "All right.  I promise I won't try to talk you out of it.  Just... Maker.  It's a bit of a shock, you know."

     Bethany turned back slowly, still stiff, but not as much as before.  "It shouldn't be.  You know some mages are happy in the Circles."

     "Happy in their cages, just like any pets," Anders muttered, then held up placatory hands when her expression tightened at once.  "Yes.  Some of them are happy.  That doesn't mean _you_ will be, but very _well_.  What is it you want to know?"

     Bethany's jaw flexed, and for a moment he thought she wouldn't answer.  Then she sighed, and folded her arms, and began to pace slowly across the room.  "I need to know what to expect.  If I do this.  I know I'll likely be Harrowed as soon as they take me in..."

     " _If_ they take you in," Anders said.  He kept his tone neutral, folding his arms as well and leaning against one of the makeshift examination tables in the room.  "If Meredith doesn't just decide to kill you for spite."

     "That wouldn't make sense.  I'm a good example of what apostates _should_ do.  She should show me off, not kill me."

     _She can show off your head, severed or branded, just as easily,_ he thought, and was fairly certain Justice did too.  But he said instead, "We'll have to agree to disagree on what makes sense for Meredith.  But if you survive the Harrowing..."  He sighed, rubbing his eyes.  "I've only seen this happen to others, mind you, and only at Kinloch.  Things might be completely different here."

     She nodded, unsurprised, still pacing in that slow, thoughtful way.  "Anything you can tell me will help."

     "Well...  anything you bring in with you will be confiscated.  They'll assume it's enchanted, or something meant to help you escape, until proven otherwise.  Your clothes, any hair-ornaments, personal keepsakes, money of course.  You might get them back in a few weeks, if you're lucky."  He smiled thinly.  "Not the money, though."

     Bethany sighed, reaching up to touch a hair-ornament he'd seen her wear several times; probably a favorite.  "All right.  What else?"

     "You'll be searched."  Anders made his voice hard, both to convey the cold awfulness of this and to steel himself against memory, for he had experienced this part personally.  "They'll do it while you're naked, just you and a room full of big, helmeted Templars.  That's also if you're lucky -- a roomful.  They don't usually do anything... untoward... if there are other Templars around.  Worry if one of them takes you off alone, though."

     Bethany's jaw flexed, though she nodded.  "What do I do if that happens?"

     He snorted.  "Whatever the Templar bloody well _wants_. I meant that you should be prepared for abuse, not that you could _stop_ it.  They'll expect you to fight back, but if you do, you're dead.  No single mage can fight her way out of the Gallows.  Just... don't fight."  He sighed.  "If you can, turn yourself in in the morning.  Templars always seem to do their worst under cover of darkness."

     She had stopped at his words, her lips tight, and he prayed he was getting through to her at last.  "I'll... keep that in mind."

     That was the trick, then:  brutal honesty.  Sighing, Anders shifted to get more comfortable against the table, and decided to hold nothing back.  "If it's done properly, the search be quick and perfunctory.  They'll search under your breasts, the pits of your arms, your body cavities, through your hair -- _all_ of it.  If they find signs of disease, they'll give you a cold-water bucket-scrub and bring in a healer.  If they find any tattoos or other marks -- "

     "I would never," Bethany said, blinking.  Such a good Andrastean girl.  Anders nodded to concede the point.

     "It's what they're looking for.  Marks of affiliation with gangs, mercenary bands -- you worked for Athenril for awhile, didn't you?  Tell them that up front.  If they think you're part of the Mage Underground, you can expect to be tortured, so better that they think you a petty criminal."

     She took a deep breath, digesting this.  "Very well.  What else?"

     "If you pass inspection?"  Anders shrugged.  "The Harrowing, I imagine, or Meredith, whichever they think will unnerve you more.  Probably you'll have to meet Meredith first, then face the Harrowing.  They like for apostates to go through it unnerved.  They'll want to break you, Bethany, see you humbled after all those years of freedom."

     Bethany sighed, looking troubled.  "Father warned me about that.  It sounds like the Gallows hasn't changed in all the years since."

     If her father had warned her about this place, which he'd risked his life to flee...  Anders suppressed a groan.  "Right, well.  If you pray, let them see you do it; it will help."

     She threw a sharp look at him, and he shrugged.  "You wanted advice.  Don't be picky just because it's offensive.  Praying saved my life once -- and no, I'm _not_ telling you that story.  I might need to use that trick again someday, if I ever need to _escape_ another Circle."

     He let that sink in -- that he had repeatedly fled what she was blithely thinking of walking into.  He watched the knowledge of this twist and harden and sober her lovely face.  But she said, "I'm not as strong as you, Anders.  I'm not brave enough, hard enough, to survive.  Not without everyone I care about spending their lives taking care of me."

     He stared at her, wondering -- _Brave?  Strong?_ \-- and then registered what she'd said.  "So instead you'll let total strangers, strangers who think you're not even a _person_ , take care of you instead?"

     To his shock, she nodded.  "I can be hard with strangers, if I must.  I can ask for what I need, instead of pretending I don't need it.  I can be honest about what I want." 

     It might have been an accident that she looked at him then, but it was no mistake that the look lingered.  Anders stared back, confused, and then --

     -- oh, flames, _really_?  His mouth fell open.  Was _that_...?  No.  What?

     -- and then she smiled in a sad sort of way and said, "And among strangers, I can be honest with myself about what I'll never have."

     He stared back, speechless.  After a moment, Bethany sighed and resumed pacing.  "Please tell me what else to expect, Anders."

     Maker.  He floundered for a moment, then managed to pull himself together.  "Ah, well, ah --  If you pass all the tests and interrogations and inspections, if the Templars you meet genuinely care about you or just aren't feeling ornery enough to hurt you... then you'll be given a set of basic robes, and introduced to the First Enchanter.  He'll assign you to a room and duties, and so on.  From there on life is fairly routine.  As a Harrowed mage you at least won't have to use the privy in front of the Templars; they do that to apprentices."  She grimaced; he shrugged, relaxing again.  "Though they can come into your quarters whenever they want, and they usually _do_ during those first few weeks. Often -- hoping to catch you at something improper.  But eventually they'll ease up."  That had always been the ideal time to escape, he'd found.  "Then it's all fraternity politics, and passing notes in the halls, and hoping the Templars don't _catch_ you at passing notes in the halls, and so on."

     She'd stopped again, frowning.  "Was there nothing good for you about being in a Circle, Anders?  Nothing at all?"

     He thought for a moment.  "The sex.  That was quite nice."

     She turned beet-red.  "Oh, Maker."

     "It's true!"  He smiled, weakly in the wake of her amazing, awful non-confession.  "There was nothing else to do, Bethany, unless you liked teaching or potion-making or reading books all day every day, week after week.  I do like those things, but that's not enough to fill a life.  I wanted love, and purpose that meant something beyond the tower's walls, and drama.  I wanted fun that wasn't measured, restricted, _watched_.  I wanted a little power over the Templars -- "

     "Templars!"

     He sobered again.  Back to brutal honesty.  "You need them, in a Circle.  Want to send a message to your mum that hasn't been half blacked-out?  Finger a Templar in the broom closet.  Want to taste a sweet you loved as a child?  Suck off the Knight Lieutenant on the ramparts.  Want to see someone you love -- like, a sister?  Want to leave the Gallows, visit your brother's grave?"  She flinched at this, and he nodded.  "For that you'll have to lift your skirts, Bethany.  For that you'll have to let them in you."

     She looked queasy, and almost he relented.  But she needed this.  "Now, listen to me."  She did not flinch as Anders pushed away from the table and went to her, taking her by the shoulders.  He spoke softly, wanting her to believe.  "It's not rape if you have a choice.  It's not rape if you want it." 

     That was a lie.  No one had a real choice in a Circle.  It was all coercion and power games, and the looming threat of punishment.  But if she believed his words even for a little while, if she could bring herself to _play the games right back_ , she would survive. 

     "Pick the Templars you want ahead of time," he continued.  "The higher-ranked, the better.  Talk to them.  Get to know them.  They'll know what you're doing."  And if she chose well, the ones she picked would keep the rest of them off her.  "Pick the place and the time, bring the toys or oil or what-have-you.  Tell them what you're willing to do.  _Take charge of it_.  Then you can enjoy it.  Then you get what you need, in more ways than one.  You see?"

     "I, I see." 

     Of course she did.  Such a _kind_ girl.  Anders sighed and dedicated himself to ruining her day.  "I'm surprised your father didn't tell you about all this."

     " _Father?_ "  Another flinch, and this time Bethany stared at him.  "What?"

     "Well, he must have been a handsome man, to woo the spoiled daughter of one of the city's most prestigious noble families.  And it's not like any Templars are picky; in the end a mouth's a mouth, a hole's a hole.  I imagine your father had to earn some pretty big favors to escape as he did."

     She shook her head, horrified.  "A Templar helped him escape," she murmured, putting her hand to her mouth.  "They named my brother after him.  I... no.  Father can't have."

     _A Templar?_   Anders shook his head in cynical amazement, though he kept his voice light.  "Well, there's always the handful who _try_ to do what is just, for whatever good that does when the rest are foul and corrupt as the Black City itself.  And it's certainly possible that your father and his Templar were just... very good friends."

     He saw the doubt in her face.  That was good, because he'd meant to plant it there.  Let her think about her father's story, now that she'd lived in Kirkwall long enough to see some of the ugliness of human nature.  Let her ask the questions she had never before considered.

     Questions like:  _Who did they punish in the wake of his escape?_   No Knight Commander would tolerate such a humiliation; someone would suffer, if not the culprit himself.  If it had been Hawke's Templar, then probably the man had died for his dereliction.  More likely, though, some mage had been scapegoated; Circles were all the same, everywhere, and Anders could not believe the Gallows had been much better a generation ago.  Had they killed that poor fall-mage?  Made her Tranquil?  Something worse, maybe; there were always worse things.  Regardless, Malcolmn Hawke's freedom had been paid for by someone else's pain; he was sure of it.

     _And who paid for **your** freedom, Anders, each of those times you broke free?_   He waited for her to ask that, and decided he would tell the truth if she did.  _I didn't care.  That's how you survive in a Circle, Bethany:  be selfish.  Be so Maker-damned selfish that you can't help but hate yourself in the wake of it all._

     Justice stirred uneasily within him, and he stifled a bitter smile.

     To his surprise, however, Bethany didn't ask about that.  "I didn't know... so much of it was... _sex_ ," she said, blushing furiously again.  "I thought, since they don't want mage children..."

     Anders shook his head.  "Mouth and hands and nethers will do just as well for their tastes.  No chance of children that way, right?"  She made a sound of anguish.  He hesitated, then forced himself to add, "And it's _not_ about sex.  It's about _power_ ; sex is just part of that.  The Templars will just as easily inflict fear and pain on you, Bethany, if you give them a reason, or just if the whim takes them -- " 

     _Cold and darkness and the caged flailing of his own mind.  A year in a dank hole, his skin crawling with constant filth, nothing but tasteless food to eat and a cat that he might have imagined to keep him sane --_

     Anders shuddered all over.  "But you don't want them getting creative.  I'm telling you how to steer them toward something you can plan for, brace against.  Something... healthier."

     Bethany stopped pacing at last.  "You can't think this -- these _horrors_ you're telling me to prepare for -- are _healthy_?"

     She truly didn't understand.  "Overall, yes.  Wouldn't you rather give some odious Templar a spit-and-polish, and maybe at least enjoy yourself in the doing, than be whipped until you pass out?  Then bleed to death or die of infection later, because they won't let you be magically healed?  I saw that happen, once."  She looked stricken, and he shook his head, relentless.  "It's all a matter of... relativity.  On the scale of 'unsolicited touching' to 'being made Tranquil', what's worse?  These are the sorts of calculations one must make constantly, in a Circle."

     "Oh, Andraste save us."  She folded her arms over her breasts, letting out a hard breath of frustration.  "Circles shouldn't _be_ like this.  What you're talking about -- surely this is something you see only in a, a _corrupt_ Circle."

     _What do you think Kirkwall's is?_ Anders wondered, then shook his head, sighing.  "I don't know.  It's what I've seen, in every Circle I've been in."  He rolled his shoulders to ease the tension that had gathered there, and the incipient headache that this conversation had stirred.

     "That's just Kinloch, isn't it?" she asked.  Carefully, he noted; ah, of course, she'd begun asking about his past, and he'd made it clear before now that he had no intention of sharing any of that.  "You haven't been in the Gallows, or anywhere else."

     He laughed a little, without humor.  "Not true, little Hawke.  I've snuck into the Gallows twice now."  To help a young mage escape being made Tranquil, once.  To fail, and be forced to watch helplessly while Alrik grinned and drove the brand home on a screaming girl's forehead, the second time.  "And I did a stint in an Orlesian Circle once for about a month."

     "What?"

     "The Chevalliers caught me, thinking I was just some ordinary apostate who'd turned to crime to survive, and they turned me over to the local Templars without bothering to mention that I'd been caught with members of the local thieves' guild."  He grinned.  "Lockpicking's a handy thing for a man like me to learn, you see.  As those Templars later discovered."

     She laughed too, though it sounded a trifle forced.  Then, to his mild surprise, she came over and sat down on the table beside him, her smile fading quickly.  Good, he decided; that meant she was rethinking this madness.

     But she said, "I don't want them to die because of me."

     "What?"

     "Sister, and Mother.  And even Gamlen."  Her eyes dropped into her lap.  "Or our friends... like you."  She glanced at him and away, fleeting, like the brush of wings.  "In Ferelden, we waited to leave Lothering until it was almost too late, and ran right into that ogre.  I pretended it was Carver's fault that we'd waited so long, but... I know the truth."  She looked at her hands, slumping.  "They were afraid to leave with other people from Lothering, because they knew I'd have to use magic to help us get past the horde.  They were protecting me, and Carver _died_ for it."

     Taken aback, Anders could think of nothing to say to this.

     "And here -- "  Bethany sighed.  "Sister could be an amazing Templar if she wanted.  She's mastered most of the skills already, and she'd be one of the good ones; the Gallows _needs_ more of the good ones.  And as a Templar, she would've had a proper salary.  She wouldn't have had to go _into the Deep Roads_ to make her fortune, with nothing but that cagey dwarf, Aveline, and _a blood mage_ to watch her back.  Like we haven't had enough of darkspawn!"

     There was a powerful bitterness in her voice as Bethany said this, and Anders sighed in awkward sympathy.  He'd wanted nothing more to do with the Deep Roads after Amaranthine, and Hawke had thankfully respected his wishes and left him behind.  She'd only left Bethany behind, though, because Leandra Hawke had had an embarrassing public breakdown about it -- and because when all was said and done, Anders suspected Hawke thought her sister was too weak for the journey.  He suspected Bethany knew that, too.

     "But she can't join the Templars, because they give extra scrutiny to your family when you do that.  And she can't join the Guard because half the Guard's corrupt, they'd find out about me and then blackmail her or something, or sell her out to the Coterie which is the same thing.  She can't even work at the Rose, if she wanted, because of that business with the blood mages seducing Templar recruits; they're watching the Rose closer now, and everyone affiliated with it.  So she's had no choice but to go on this trip, and face darkspawn again and Maker knows what else, just for some hope of giving us a future.  Because of me!"  On her knee, one of Bethany's hands tightened into a fist.  "What if she doesn't come back?  Anders, what if I lose her, too?"

     Anders grimaced and took her hand.  Primal mages should never make fists when they were angry; it was too close to the gesture and state of mind that summoned fire.  "You won't.  Your sister is remarkably strong; the Deep Roads won't kill her."  He grimaced.  "She'd make a fine Warden, now that I think about it."

     "Which would just be another way to lose her."  When Bethany lifted her face, Anders had to suppress the urge to draw a breath of admiration.  There was nothing weak about this girl.  The same ferocity that her sister wore overtly was in Bethany too, just banked and channeled elsewhere.  But now...

     "I _don't_ want to be hurt," she said.  "I don't like what the Circles have become; I mean to fight that.  But I would rather lose my own future than see any more of my family lose theirs.  If it's a choice between risking their lives and putting up with some bully of a Templar -- "  She shook her head.  "There's no contest, Anders.  It's not even close."

     _Maker_.  "It would seem your mind's made up, then."

     "Yes."  Her expression softened, half relieved and half resigned.  "But I want to thank you for being honest.  I know you don't agree with what I'm doing..."

     At that, he had to sigh -- because part of him _did_ agree, despite Justice roiling in frustration in the other part of him.  It was the brutal choice that all apostates faced:  stay free and risk losing everything, or submit and know at least that loved ones were safe.  Or give up the effort to have anything at all, as Anders had done -- no friends, no lovers, no home, nothing but running and the causes he'd chosen to devote himself to.  But how many would choose that sort of life?  In the end, even he had chosen to take in Justice; in part, that had been sheer loneliness.  After that year in the Void the Templars had inflicted on him, he could not bear solitude;  better possession than that, ever again. 

     And for Bethany, better the Gallows than another Carver. 

     Inwardly, he sighed.  He'd always thought of Bethany and other apostates born outside the Circles as free.  But this was their freedom:  a raft of ugly choices, and no hope of true happiness anywhere.  Small wonder they capitulated to the Chantry, again and again.

     _Just another injustice to be corrected_ , whispered his other soul, and he nodded in quiet agreement.

     "Just remember the things I've told you," he said, at last.  "The -- abuses -- don't happen to everyone; what I told you was just in case.  Some people thrive in a Circle.  If anyone can, it's you."

     She giggled.  "Maybe I can aspire to be the next First Enchanter!"

     "You'd do a damn sight better than Orsino."  Then he really thought about it, and grimaced.  "On second thought, you might be worse.  All that Hawke stubbornness thrown up against Meredith?  Would the city even survive?"

     That earned him a full belly-laugh, and he grinned back, pleased at least that she was not going into this fearfully or desperately.  The Gallows _would_ benefit from having someone like her around...

     ...if she survived with her magic and spirit intact.  That quieted his laugh, and he looked away.

     But then Bethany's hand uncurled beneath his own, and her fingers laced themselves tentatively through his.  "Anders," she began, and faltered.

     "What is it?"

     She swallowed.  "I'm not...  That is to say...  If the Templars... Maker."  She took a deep breath.  "I don't want to face that without... something good in my head.  _Solicited_ touching, to... to offset the unsolicited."

     It took him a full three breaths to process her meaning, and then another three to realize why she was saying this to _him_.  He jumped.  "Oh!  Are you --  _oh._   That's... um."

     She sighed, looking annoyed, though the blush on her cheeks rather belied that.  "I'm not asking for your hand in marriage.  And -- I don't want, ah... anything that would make children.  Maker, two mages and my lineage?  No, I don't even want to risk that.  Just..."  She shrugged, helplessly.  " _You_ know."

     He had no idea.  Uneasily he said, "But if you don't want me to touch you -- "

     " _Touching's_ fine.  Touching is what I want."  She shifted, uneasily.  "I, um, I've tried it myself, but... I've never... I don't know quite what I'm doing wrong, really.  But you're much more, hmm, experienced.  And Sister says you like women too.  And Isabela says..."  With that she stopped talking, pressing her lips into a fine line and turning bright red all over.  "I'm babbling."

     All at once the fragmentary words snapped together into a comprehensible whole.  "Oh!  The electricity trick."  He almost laughed, then realized that would send her fleeing from the clinic.  And this was no laughing matter, really.  She'd said it herself:  if she was to survive in the Gallows, she would need good memories from her life of freedom, to sustain her.

     But --  He squirmed uncomfortably, and did not know why.  This was no different, really, from things he had done during his own time in the Circle.  And afterward, working at the Pearl in Denerim, he'd spent his share of nights educating shy young ladies and lads brought in by parents and friends who knew what they would need to face the cold world.  Was it that he knew her which troubled him so?  No; something else.

     "Bethany, love," he said gently, "why did you ask _me_ for this?"

     Immediately she tensed.  "If, if you'd rather not -- "

     "I didn't say that."  And because she seemed to need it, because so much of her anxiety right now was, he suspected, _fear of rejection_ , he let his gaze drift down her body, lingering on those great ripe breasts of hers; truly, she'd gotten her share and Marian's besides.  And those hips, and those long thighs... He sighed a little, acutely aware of how long it had been since he'd indulged this part of himself; not since Justice, really.  She was blushing, pleased, when he returned his attention to her face, and he could not help a grin.  _I still have it._   "I just worry that this will make things awkward between us.  I think of you as a friend."  Best to settle that between them right now, if he hoped for more.

     She sobered.  "And you're more interested in my sister."

     He coughed into his hand and felt his face turn hot.  _Teach me to patronize, will you!_   "Well... yes.  I don't mean to ever act on it, of course, but... yes."

     She cocked her head, hawklike.  "Why not?"

     Anders grimaced.  "Bethany, your sister... The sort of lover that she needs is more..."  He sketched an awkward shape with his hands, unable to convey it.  "More _not me_.  Not a penniless runaway mage-Warden hiding in the sewers.  Not an _abomination_."

     But to his surprise, Bethany laughed, covering her mouth modestly with one hand.  "You really don't know us Hawke women well, Anders.  Remember, our mother fell for a penniless runaway mage, who dragged her away from a life of luxury to a farm in dog-land.  And Mother _still_ sighs romantically about the whole thing."

     Anders had seen Leandra do it, no less, which drew a weak chuckle from him.  "It's just..."  He sighed, sobering.  "I'd break her heart, Bethany."

     He had no idea how the conversation had turned on him -- from her asking him for a decidedly intimate favor to him confessing his regrets.  But then, that _was_ the sort of thing that friends were supposed to do, wasn't it?  Maybe he'd just gone about this wrong.  Or maybe he was just badly out of practice.

     "If you do, I'll kill you."  She smiled so sweetly as she said this that Anders laughed, though a bit uneasily.  Then her smile grew serious.  "But my sister's a big girl, Anders -- and I know she's the sort who'd rather love and lose than never love.  Maybe... you should try that, too."

     Maker.  If only. 

     Shaking his head, Anders touched a finger to her lips, making it a tease.  "We were discussing _you_.  And why you can't just go find some handsome young thing to scratch your itches who's _not_ ten years your senior and possessed?"

     "Fine, change the subject, then."  But she drew in a deep breath.  "I know you won't get attached.  I know you won't hold it over me, or shame me.  And... I mean... I do like you."  She ducked her eyes for a moment.  "You probably guessed that.  But it's _just_ like.  Does that make sense?  You're the sort of man my sister would love, but for me..."

     "Better to admire from afar?"  He chuckled, surprised to find himself relieved.  She was a sweet girl, and beautiful, but far, far too Andrastean for his tastes.  Although, if this was what she was about beneath her sweet, pious surface, maybe he needed to reconsider what _good Andrastean girl_ really meant.

     As if to confirm this, she giggled and said, "We can be like you and Isabela, friends who, er, do more."  She shrugged, relaxing more as some part of her got used to the idea, and leaning towards him in a way that she probably didn't mean to be utterly alluring.  Probably.  "And anyway -- "  At this she looked up at him, bold and frank and -- _well_.  He was _definitely_ going to reconsider good Andrastean girls.  "Isabela said you had the best fingers in Thedas.  I want the best."

     Well indeed.  Anders grinned and got up.  "Right.  So.  Take your leggings and knickers off, please.  No need for the shirt."  Leaving the shirt on would make her feel dressed, even if she wasn't.  "I'm going to go wash my hands, trim my nails, and the like."  He grinned and waggled his fingers, and she blushed deeply.  "Since you want _the best_."

     When he returned, though, he had to stop, catching his breath.  For Bethany sat on the examining table with her bare legs drawn up, corset off and shirt-sides unlaced, poised and perfect as a sculpture.  She'd had the forethought to fetch a blanket to put under herself, a shield against the table's hard old metal; good, but it made her seem even more a work of art, polished and positioned on a bed of velvet for best viewing.  And the way she was _watching_ him -- ooh.

     In that moment he resolved:  _the damned Templars shall never know the best of you.  Even if they touch you, it will be a mage whose hands you measure them against._

     He toed off his boots and took off his jacket, draping both on a nearby cot, and said, "Sit forward, if you please; I want to move behind you."

     "Behind me?"  She raised an eyebrow at this, but complied, and he slid into the space between her and the wall that the examining table rested against.  Drawing up his knees, he coaxed her to lie back against him, and settled his arms around her gently.

     "Now," he began, "am I to correctly understand that you have, er, _explored your own mysteries_ , and yet found them less-than-mysterious?"

     Bethany giggled, with only a slight edge of nervousness.  "That was a terrible metaphor."

     "Oh? Perhaps I'm just not being clever enough.  Let's see.  'Inadequately plumbed your harbor depths?' Isabela should like that one.  'Insufficiently mixed your potion?'  'Inaccurately targeted your area-of-effect attack?'"

     By this point she had dissolved into belly-laughs, all her poise gone, and probably her nerves with it.  Experimentally he cupped her shoulder and slid a hand down her arm, just brushing the curve of her breast with his thumb as he did so, and she did not tense.  "Those are worse than just saying it outright!"

     "Are they?"  He kept petting her in innocuous places, getting her used to his touch, taking careful note of where she sighed or squirmed in ticklish response.  "Well, perhaps you'd better say it outright, then."

     She took a deep breath.  "I've never --  The thing they call a, a _climax_ , all the poetry talks about it -- that."

     "Ah, _that_.  Yes, I rather thought that was what you meant.  So."  He slid a hand down each of her arms, then lifted her hands, lacing his fingers between hers.   "Everything we do will be something you do to yourself."

     "Oh, but -- "  She squirmed and half-turned, and he saw her frown.  "But I wanted -- "

     "Oh, you'll have me.  As an embellishment."  He smiled and drew one of her hands to her own lips, then danced his finger along their soft fullness; she inhaled, understanding.  "But we shall learn you together, and when we're done you'll have more than just memories to carry with you.  Yes?"

     "Oh."  She relaxed, plainly intrigued.  "All right."

     "Then lift your lovely neck, my dear."  When she did, and he drew slow fingers down the long lithe lines of her, she inhaled.

     "This is strange," she said.

     "Stranger than asking a friend for a helpful finger?"

     Her face turned beet-red.  "No, I just... I thought you would be more interested in my breasts.  The way you looked at me."

     "Oh, I'll get there eventually.  But there's more to a man than his cock and arse, and more to a woman than what's between her legs and on her chest."  Her neck seemed particularly sensitive along the lateral tendons -- he marked the goosebumps -- so experimentally he leaned close and nuzzled behind her ear.  She gasped, her eyes fluttering shut.  "Oh, interesting.  Are you sure you aren't part elf?"

     "Mmm."  She shifted to allow him easier access, canting her hips and tightening her thighs in a familiar sort of way.  He marked that for _later_.  "Like Fenris..."  And then she bit her lower lip, reddening more.

     "He _is_ lovely, isn't he?" Anders chuckled.  "Until he talks.  But there's no need for words in a fantasy, is there?  Let him be the one doing this if it pleases you.  It does him no harm."  And he threaded fingers up into her hair, massaging her scalp, as he nibbled at one earlobe.  That she sighed and melted against him was gratifying, but he did not do it for long.  Her hands were idle, after all, and that wasn't what he'd promised her.

     "Show me how to touch those marvelous breasts of yours," he whispered in her ear.  "Surely you've done that much, hmm?  Weighed them in your hands, danced your fingers along the curves beneath..."  She sighed, and when he took her hands and lifted them to her collarbones, drawing them down until she cupped herself, he wasn't the one doing the work.  "Good... yes.  Now:  what do you like?"

     He expected her to hesitate, but she did not.  At once her hands shifted angle, fingertips circling on the fabric of her shirt.  She'd removed her breastband, so he smiled when, at the center of her circling fingers, her nipples began to tent the fabric.  Playfully he flicked at them, and she yelped and laughed a little, weakly.  _Too much._   So he lightened his touch to the barest tickle, more against the cloth than the flesh beneath.

     "Oh!" she cried, tossing her head back against his shoulders, and he grinned.  _Just right._

     And so it went.  He smoothed palms over the soft curve of her belly, dragged nails over her hips, reminding her that skin was everywhere and erogenous zones were whatever she wanted them to be.  When he finally coaxed her thighs apart she was deliciously wet, and half out of her head already.  As he guided her fingers through tickles and gentle circling massages and -- as he had guessed -- a rhythmic, relentless _squeeze_ , her eyes flew open and she arched, shaking and utterly silent in his arms.  He hadn't put a finger in her. 

     Then she lay shaking in the aftermath, her eyes glazed and her voice catching as she murmured, "Oh, oh, that was... I don't know..."  Amused, Anders kissed her cheek.

     "Come back to me, love.  I want to show you one thing more."  When she finally managed to focus on him, Anders lifted a hand, straightening two fingers and permitting the faintest glow of summoned energy to appear.  Then he lowered this hand to the curls between her legs again, and this time slid those fingers into the soft wet warmth of her, and angled his fingers _just so_ \--

     " _Maker's --_ "  But she never found a possession of the Maker to swear by, because her whole body curled spasmodically in his arms and the word unfurled into a silent scream.  Grinning, Anders kept working his fingers steadily, loving the way she quivered, until he judged she'd had enough.  Then he let the magic ebb away, and she sagged into a puddle against him, dragging in a breath as an afterthought.

     Pleased, he shifted to lay her down on her side, stroking her hair once in pure affection, then got up to fetch cloths and a basin from the cistern-pump.  Women were certainly less messy about the whole business than men, but he'd found that all his lovers generally appreciated a freshening when they were done, and it satisfied his caretaking urge.  She stirred while he did this, turning to gaze at him through sweaty strands of hair, and for a moment he was struck by how amazingly beautiful she was.  He did not pray much anymore, but in that moment he prayed to Andraste that the Templars would never break her.

     She reached out, shameless in her bliss, and brushed her fingers over the front of his trousers.  He was hard, of course; not even Justice's hovering disapproval could keep him from reacting while a gorgeous woman writhed around his hand.  "Anders..."

     "No, no.  This was about you."  Drying his hands, he set the cloths and basin aside.  "Your pleasure was enough for me."

     She rolled onto her side, all hip-curve and languidness, the smile on her face pure temptation.  Andraste's knickerweasels, she'd been spending too much time 'round Isabela.  "But what if _touching you_ would give me pleasure?"

     "I gave you _the electricity trick_ ," he said, laughing.  "What more do you want, you greedy creature?"

     She laughed too, and sat up to compose herself, to his relief.  "You'd do it if I was Isabela."

     " _Please_ don't pattern yourself after her, for the Maker's sake."

     She giggled -- just a little, but enough that he knew she would be all right.  More than all right.  She was a Hawke, and the Gallows would be as nothing before her.

     So he handed her her clothing, and pointedly turned his back while she got dressed.  And then he started when her arms came 'round him from behind, and her head rested against his shoulder.

     "Thank you," she said.  "Truly.  You're a good man."

     Touched, and troubled, he covered her hands with his own.  "I'm not.  I'm _so_ not, Bethany."

     "You're better than you think.  And Sister's going to be a very lucky girl, when you finally let yourself believe that for five minutes."

     He wasn't ready to think about that.  But he did turn to her, taking her hands again.  "I assume you'll go in the morning?"

     "Better not to let myself dither about it for too much longer, yes."

     "Shall I go with you?"

     Bethany blinked in surprise.  "Anders... that's dangerous."

     _I would rather face the Gallows than the Deep Roads again, any day_ , he almost said, but that would have been cruel in light of Marian's absence.  "I have done far more dangerous things, I assure you."

     "You would really do that for me?"

     "I would not offer, otherwise."

     She considered for a moment, then pressed her lips together and shook her head.  "I don't want anything bad to happen to you, either."  And, standing on tiptoe, she kissed him lightly, almost chastely given what they'd been at not long before.  Touched, he stared as she stepped back, gently pulling her hands free of his, and he was surprised to feel an ache within himself as she turned and headed for the door.

     But as Bethany walked away, she lifted a hand in farewell, and he saw the faintest swirl of magic 'round the first two fingers of her hand.

     "Why, you little -- "  He burst out laughing, and she grinned over her shoulder at him as she slid the door shut.

     She would be fine, he decided, flopping onto the table she'd just vacated and throwing an arm over his eyes.  Just fine.  And perhaps --

     _You really don't know us Hawke women well, Anders._

     -- perhaps, when Marian returned...

     Well.  They would all just have to see.  Sighing, he rolled over and let himself drift off into blue Fade dreams.

**Author's Note:**

> Goddamn it, genginger, this is all your fault. Thanks. :)


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